It's not every day that Izuku Midoriya gets to see a villain fight in person, let alone two.

Standing there, in a crowd of heroes and bystanders, Izuku startles at the sight of green slime. His eyes widen and his breath hitches in his throat. The villain. All Might. His fault. The voices of the citizens questioning why All Might isn't there feel like an arrow straight through his heart. It's his fault. Izuku made All might drop the bottles keeping the slime villain imprisoned. Izuku made All Might waste his energy.

The smell of burning and the shouting of distressed heroes only serves to amplify what's staring him right in the face. Clenching his eyes shut and keeping a hand firmly planted on his mouth, he desperately tries to block everything out. He knows that help will show up and save the day; save the civilian that's been trapped in the slime for who knows how long.

A real hero will come soon.

Blocking it out doesn't help, he can still hear the shouting and smell the smell of something burning. Calm. He needs to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. Everything is too much. Like being swept up in a wave overloading his senses. Drowning, drowning, drowning. He swims and he swims, and finally, there's one thing clear in his mind.

He needs to open his eyes, and so, he does.

It starts with blond spiky hair, the tilt of a head. Red eyes staring right at him; screaming 'save me'. And suddenly, very suddenly, Izuku comes to a realization that drowns out the rest of the world. His burnt notebook drops, his legs jump into a sprint, moving as fast as he can. He keeps on running- no, he wants to. Instead, he comes to a halt at the front of the crowd, his legs firmly planted on the ground as if with a mind of its own.

No.

He isn't a real hero.

Those red eyes keep looking at him, and he crashes down on the ground. He wants nothing more than to save him, to run up there and tell him that everything's going to be alright. But he can't; there isn't anything he can do. Why, oh why, did quirkless Izuku think he could do anything when the heroes can't? Why, even for a split second, did he think he could be a hero?

The seconds seem to stretch for hours and all he can do is watch. But even that he can't do properly as his eyes cloud with tears. Izuku doesn't close his eyes though, he keeps his gaze through it all. He wants to scream. He wants to scream so badly, but he keeps his hands as firmly on his mouth as his leg are to the ground.

It doesn't stop the sobs from spilling out.

"I'm sorry," a deep voice said somewhere next to him.

Everyone had left. The only ones on sight are the paramedics, police and heroes. His clothes were splattered with slime and blood, his hands dyed with it as it dried. Izuku sat against the wall just outside the alleyway, where they had placed him after forcibly removing him from the crime scene. Dried tear stains litter his cheeks; his eyes were dry.

It hurt. He didn't focus on that.

He couldn't focus on anything. Not the muted voices of police telling him he couldn't be there, nor the feeling of a large gentle hand on his shoulder. He stared unseeing at the wall opposite him. His throat was sore. Weird, he didn't scream. He hadn't. His lips were dry, his mouth was dry. Maybe that's why it was so difficult to part his lips. With a trembling voice, he finally managed the words,

"He was my friend."

It took him a while, but he finally arrived home after the endless questioning of the police. His mom was going to come home soon too, he should make dinner before she arrives. Almost on auto-pilot, he moved around the house, grabbing the pan, leftover rice, eggs and chicken. Like that, he got to work on making a simple fried rice. Right as he turned off the stove, the door slammed open.

"Izuku?" he heard his mom call out.

"Oh, Mom! Right on time," unsteadily, he picked the pan up and placed it on the countertop, "I just finished making dinner." With a rush he went to the cabinets where they stored their plates.

Inko dropped her bag, chest heaving as she stared at her son pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Her hair was a mess, and she may or may not have forgotten her jacket at work. Tears were already leaking from her eyes, but Izuku didn't notice; he didn't dare look at her.

"Izu—" she began, but was cut off by Izuku's slightly louder voice."Do you want me to brew you tea? We have chamomile, green tea, black, oolong—"

This time, it was her turn to interrupt him.

"Izuku!" she shouted.

He stopped. He stopped moving completely. Frozen. Like a man trying to be as still as possible while the T-rex sniffs him out. Don't move and it won't see him. Don't move and she won't notice. Finally, he turned around, green eyes locking with green eyes for the first time since his mom had arrived. She rushed to him, not waiting for him to speak or move.

"Are you okay, honey?" Gently, she took the plates from his trembling hands without breaking eye contact, and placed it down. "I got the call."

With both hands she cupped Izuku's cheeks. He couldn't ignore it anymore, not when faced with his mother. The dam broke and the tears fell like a waterfall. In true Midoriya fashion, she quickly followed, the tears escaping her once again.

Warmth spread around him as she wrapped her arms around him. His own flew around her in return, the embrace what little comfort they could give each other. With his face smashed against the crook of her neck, he started mumbling, but through the snot and the tears and the hair, she could barely hear what he was trying to say.

"My—" he choked through the sobs building in his throat, "—my fault.".

She held him tighter, the soothing words of a good mother escaping her. His knees gave out and they both fell to the ground. He held onto her so tight it could squeeze the air out of her lungs.

The tight embrace was the only thing carrying them through the first few hours.

Shops. Homes. Pedestrians. Roads.

There were a lot of things that passed him by as Izuku sat next to his mom in the car. Nobody said a word; only the soft murmur of the radio filled the silence. It was fine like that. He was fine like that. But his mom wasn't. Inko wasn't.

She was worried. Very worried. Usually, Izuku could never sit still, what with his love of heroes. Of talking about them. His silence was loud. Deafeningly loud. And Inko couldn't handle it, she couldn't handle losing another son.

The ride was a long one, so sometimes, she'd find herself drifting back into her thoughts. Was there something she could have done differently? Why hadn't she been there when her boys needed her most? It ate at her, the horrid thoughts of what ifs and maybe's plaguing her day in and day out.

But that didn't matter, what matters is her son.

Inko worried for him constantly, but now, it felt like an overwhelming need to know that he was okay. During the drive, she would occasionally glance over at Izuku to make sure he was alright, but she could never keep looking for too long. It wasn't that she had to keep her eyes on the road (though that was probably more important), it was that she couldn't deal with the sight of the smile wiped from Izuku's face, the spark gone from her precious son's eyes.

It was contradictory if anything, because she actually wanted to keep her eyes on him constantly. She knew that she shouldn't do that, however, because as much as Inko needed privacy to mourn, so did Izuku. It was obvious to her how hard he was taking it. Inko hoped he knew that she would always be there. To give him a tight hug whenever he's at his lowest. To give him a shoulder to cry on.

Because that's what mothers do.

Izuku didn't notice the turbulent thoughts racing through his mother's mind. Instead, he leaned limply against the door of the car, head pressed against the window. A single flower lied in his left hand; a purple hyacinth. He watched as things went by.

Cars. Trucks. Heroes.

The names of everything he saw he said in his mind, hoping that that would keep it off of what he couldn't deny any longer. His brows pinched together and the edges of his lips curled downwards.

It didn't help.

Instead of the countless cars moving past him or even the view of heroes on patrol, all he could see was red. Red like the blood that coated his fingers. Red like the eyes that burned into him when he closed his. Only this time, he didn't need to close his, for in his mind's eye that was all he could see. The sight of those red eyes filled him with guilt and sorrow. The self-hatred that had nestled into his chest ever since he turned 4 grew and grew until it became something monstrous.

Consuming. All-consuming.

He should have listened to him, to his advice. He was never meant to be a hero if he couldn't be one when no one else wanted to. He was never meant to be a hero, because heroes don't leave their friends to die.

"…Izuku?" Came the voice of his mother, soft like a blanket, but ever so slightly hesitant. He didn't answer. He wanted to stay in the silence. To keep from the inevitable."We're here, honey."

Grey. Dark. Solemn.

That's what he thought as he finally moved his head to look at the building in front of them. They had arrived.

And it was Bakugo's funeral.

Izuku walked two steps behind Inko as they walked through the halls of the funeral home. The walls felt closer than they were. He didn't want to be here, but like watching the death of his oldest friend, it felt important to do this for him. Still, he wanted nothing more than to flee those halls and run until his legs gave out.

Run away.

He hung his head low, the shame that had been building ever since he saw him in the alley hung as heavy as lead in the pit of his stomach. The flower in his hand mimicked him, even though he hand-picked the flower for its strength and beauty.

Repeatedly, he brought one foot before the other. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. If he didn't, he would forget. He told himself that, but he knew that he wouldn't only stop.

Walking felt like watching the cars fly by him; grasping for that straw that would keep him from falling even further. He walked slowly, so it was a surprise he didn't fall completely behind. His mom would sometimes look back worriedly at him, and sometimes, she would walk a little bit slower. When she did that, Izuku made sure to walk even slower. They had left very early that morning, so even at a snail's pace they arrived second at the venue.

And still, he continued to stare at the floor.

It changed from the tiled white to a dull purple rug. For the first time since the walk to the venue had begun, he heard voices intermingle. Abruptly, it stopped, but soon after continued in muffled voices. His shoes padded softly against the pressed down rug. They talked quietly, not in a whisper but soft and gentle.

Auntie Mitsuki's voice sounded as if it could break any second; fragile.

Briefly, Izuku looked up. His mom and Auntie were sharing a hug. He looked down immediately. The hug looked too personal and private for him to be allowed to stare. Seconds passed. He heard his mom start talking to Uncle Masaru.

"Izu-chan?" Auntie Mitsuki whispered, still with that fragile voice.

He looked up slowly, hesitantly. It felt wrong to be here; it was his fault all of this had happened in the first place. He shouldn't have been allowed inside, and he shouldn't be allowed to look the mother of the boy he had killed in the eyes.

Still, his green eyes connected with red-rimmed puffy eyes.

Her eyes were blameless, and that made him cry out inside in confusion. She gave a wobbly smile and pulled him into a hug. As he stood there, being tightly squeezed by his aunt, he didn't know what to do. Where was he supposed to place his arms? Was he allowed to hug her back?

He stood there stiff as a board, arms rigidly attached to his sides. He hated himself for wanting to relax completely into the warmth and comfort of the hug, but he knew he wasn't allowed to. She only squeezed him tighter. Guiltily, he relented to his wants, letting himself nestle his head into the crook of her neck.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, flower in hand.

It was time.

They brought out the casket for them to say their final goodbyes.

Izuku called the Bakugos Auntie and Uncle, but that didn't make them family by blood. This meant they had to wait a while, and to Izuku, this was a relief. He watched as others walked the length to the open casket. Every time another passed him by on the way back, the dread he felt in his chest increased.

Time was time, but time was short.

The Midoriyas are very close to the Bakugos, so sooner than he would have liked, it was their turn.

His mom got up, he followed. Every step felt heavier than the last. He gripped the flower too tightly, and without knowing he crushed the stem. His mom stopped, he stopped. She placed down a pink carnation and gently brushed Bakugo's cheek. He didn't see it happen, but he knew, because she would always do that to him too.

And then, it was his turn.

He walked up to the casket. The designated mourners tried to pass him flowers, but he gently shook his head. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Each step grew harder and harder, heavier and heavier. Like weights that increased with every step he took. His throat grew dry and his heart sped in his chest. With a final step, he arrived before the open casket.

Before Kacchan.

And there he lay, eyes closed and pale.

The beating of his heart reached his throat, he opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologise, but before he knew it he was running back down the aisle. He ran fast and reckless, eyes squeezed shut. Get out, get out, get out.

"Mpf!" a man called out before falling to the ground. Izuku ran regardless, and run he did. He ran out of the venue. He ran out of the halls.

And eventually, he arrived outside.

With a gasp and a gulp he swallowed the fresh air. His breathing came hard and rough, but still he could hear the beating of his heart over his fast panting. He fell to the floor and pulled his legs close, hiding his face in his knees.

The tears came quickly. His voice was a strangled mess of sobs and cries. His heart was full of guilt and sorrow, and that poured out of him through the tears. He blamed himself. It was his fault, he snuffed out the fire of his soul, and no one could convince him it wasn't so.

It took a while for his tears to stop, and even when it did he kept on hugging his knees tightly. He felt guilty for not crying, he felt guilty when no one blamed him.

It isn't your fault.

It was a whisper in his ear. No, it was like a thought in his mind. A traitorous thought, he wrote it off as. But then it came again, louder this time, and Izuku noticed how deep the voice was.

Unfortunate, but not your fault.

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm a new writer, so constructive criticism is always welcome. PS this fic is crossposted from ao3.